Of Call Centres and Collars

 

The number of workmen at our house at any one time has dwindled to a couple of grizzled blokes on scaffolding (the bathroom isn’t finished, but the installers seem to have given up and disappeared, leaving a handy bath on the landing) so my week’s quota of frustrating conversations has had to come from utility companies, with Plusnet providing a particular collector’s item:

“Hi, I’m confused why you’re charging me this £100 penalty.”

“You cancelled your contract.”

“Yes, but I had already started a new contract for the house I was moving to, so that’s technically me staying with you.”

“You cancelled the contract, so we’ve issued a penalty charge”

“But don’t you see I have another contract with you?”

“Yes, but you didn’t follow the house move policy.”

“OK, but if you take the spirit of the policy–“

“I’ll ask you not to get aggressive. You didn’t follow the policy, so we’re charging a penalty.”

“I want to escalate this. I want to speak to someone who can override the policy, now.”

“Thats not possible. The policy is that I issue a request to a manager, who will contact you in 5-10 days.”

“How about we ignore the policy for the sake of customer satisfaction?”

“Please don’t get aggressive.”

“I prefer to call it ‘creative’. How about you do something wild, and ring a manager and tell them you’re about to retain a valuable customer.”

“As I explained…”

"Alright team, back on the phones - and don't forget the policy..."

I should have just let the £100 go at the beginning and got on with my not-yet-shortened-by-5-years life. But I can’t let go an opportunity to educate call centre workers about the evils of non flexible policies. I imagine him at home with his partner.

“Oh my God, there’s a fire upstairs!”

“  “

“Quick, we’ve got to get out now!”

“Please don’t get aggressive; the policy is that I finish my evening meal before taking part in anything spontaneous.”

“But–“

“With the exception of physical exercise, which according to the policy should be undertaken on an empty stomach.”

“But this is physical–we’ve got to get out now”

“If you read the policy you will see that ‘physical exercise’ refers to planned exercise undertaken at a licensed premises such a gymnasium…”

Anyway, that’s just a representative sample of my utilities week, which also included me pretending to be my mother so that Octopus Energy would discuss her account with me, the person who had originally opened it. (I should clarify that was over the phone; I draw the line at physical impersonations of the elderly. Besides, my parrot and eye patch were still packed in a box somewhere.) My mother also suffered a phone engineer not turning up for the second time to install a phone. And we discovered that all the render on our back wall is “only being held on by the paint” as one of the builders told us. No doubt I shall return to that topic in due course.

To brighter subjects though, and I’m sure dog lovers are looking forward to (and dog haters dreading) hearing how Mishka is doing. She’s 12 weeks now, bigger and hairier, and curled asleep around my feet as I write this. She either curls around feet or sinks her teeth into them, and the fun is never knowing which you’re going to get. We love her of course, irrespective of her toilet training record (poor) or her chewing impulse (voracious). Bred to be a ratter, her play bite is designed to dig in and never let go until the victim expires. Small though she is, she shows that when a stranger arrives at the door she is, to use the technical term, All Mouth and Trousers. She will take on all comers from behind the safety of a strategically placed chair.

"Parcel for Lowe...?"

Four weeks in to puppy ownership, I find it easy to see why so many owners abandon their charges (Mishka, if you’re reading this, it’s only at the level of fantasy). Imagine your children’s pleading faces as they ask for a puppy. Imagine their expressions of delight when on Christmas Day you reveal the surprise. Now imagine cleaning up excretions 8 times a day from your carpet, while teeth sink into your feet as you kneel, Vanish in hand. How long would you last if you had always thought of this as your children’s puppy? Better to think of it as a new baby - a new baby with massive fangs and incredible turns of speed.

Mishka meanwhile, having had her injections, was allowed out of the garden and into the world outside. Taking a dog for a first walk involves first getting them comfortable wearing a collar. Our smug puppy training book (“Never tell them off” - just smile sweetly as blood seeps from around her teeth clamped to your wrist”) recommends a complex arrangement involving gradually moving the collar closer while force feeding treats until you have an obedient dog with an oversized liver. I decided straightforward was best. I showed her the collar, then fastened it round her neck. I felt rather pleased with this achievement, until on every subsequent occasion I showed her the collar she would cower, slink away and try to burrow under the dresser in the corner of the kitchen. Still, her personal development could not be delayed. We attached the lead to the collar and, feeling like parents on the first day of school, we set off.

A short distance up a busy road with no pavement, and you come to a Woodland Trust area that is a favourite with dog walkers. Mishka had been warming up by exchanging threatening barks with the dog next door, but we didn’t meet a single other dog. This was partly because she was in such a sulk about wearing a collar she shuffled about disconsolately and sat down regularly as if in contemplation. We put her out of her misery and carried her home.

Things have got better through the week, and tonight we had 15 minutes in the rain that was like taking an actual dog for a walk, a mixture of trotting along and sniffing in the undergrowth. With a bit of luck our scaffolding will come down tomorrow, we will be able to open the back door, and hoosh her out onto the lawn like a real dog. The rain has arrived just in time.